


Another Mistake

by Ydream08



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, PWP, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21615142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ydream08/pseuds/Ydream08
Summary: A chance encounter and a much needed break from life. For both of them, it was simply another mistake.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Another Mistake

"I don't want to tell you, 'I told you so', Ronald, but I can't see how this time will be different. I mean… You quit school and went to Auror training. Then, you quit that one too. George took you in at the joke shop, but in a few months you were _bored_ there as well. You weren't working at all when we married! I am still paying for the expenses of the wedding by the way —"

"It was you who wanted the _simple_ wedding in Paris," Ron grumbled to his firewhiskey, but he knew Hermione would ignore him and continue on. She didn't surprise him. It was as though Harry was nonexistent and they had not gone out as a trio like the old days. But then again, his mate had long got up and found a pretty bird to converse with.

"—And now you want to try being a professional Quidditch player? You haven't touched a broom for the past eight years! The last time was when we were in sixth year."

It was really hot in here, Ron was aware. His headache seemed not remedied by the firewhiskey, and it got harder to tolerate his dear wife under these circumstances. It had been a long day of job hunting to start with anyway. Without any NEWTS to his name and no acknowledged skill whatsoever, Ron Weasley had not been lucky to find a job that readily accepted him. The Ministry was only open arms and smiles to the brightest witch of their age.

"Look Ron, I love you and I want you to work out something that you will want… but Quidditch?"

He could try becoming a spokesperson or a critic for Quidditch. Why was Hermione outright -not rejecting- _reprimanding_ him for the mere thought?

Ron downed the remaining of his drink. "You know what, Hermione? Shut up. If it were that easy to get a job, why don't you arrange me something in the Ministry, with how you are the Head of your department?"

Hermione looked him dead in the eyes, her cheeks red but otherwise she was monotonous when she uttered, "We accept wizards and witches with at least three Outstandings in NEWTS—"

"I KNOW! You know why?" Ron hissed, banging his empty glass on the table. Hermione startled. "BECAUSE YOU DAMN TOLD ME SO. COUNTLESS TIMES."

Well, Ron was no longer keeping quiet. "I'M TRYING TO MAKE SOMETHING OF MY LIFE, IF YOU HAVEN'T NOTICED. AND IF YOU CAN'T BE SUPPORTIVE, THEN SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP."

He didn't care the silence of the pub as he stood there, having left his seat somewhere during his short outburst. He also didn't care the glistening in Hermione's eyes which most definitely equaled to her near-crying state. They have been married for the past three years, but Ron could further admit he didn't care an ounce what the young woman in front of him thought because she was not the girl he had fallen in love with.

Or worse— she was indeed Hermione Granger he had known from their school years but it was a late awakening for him to realize he hated their quarrels, hated their 'love', hated their sex, hated how she thought of everything as 'winning and losing' or 'success and failure'.

His life was more than that to him. He wanted to be happy. He wanted a woman who would put him first in her priorities, because that was what he did for Hermione.

Ron had encouraged her when she returned to Hogwarts, always took the days off during her holidays to greet her in the train platform. He had even visited her in Hogsmeade once or twice, back when they had been newly dating. After her graduation they married and she directly accepted a position in the Ministry. Ron was fine with her long working hours as newlyweds (they hadn't even had a honeymoon) and exhaustion over the weekends while he had opted for a quieter life when he quit Auror training.

Ron had always thought making money was important, because as a child he had realized the stark difference it made between peers. He never wanted his own children to feel the shame, anxiety and inferiority he felt as a child.

But one year and a half into Auror training, he realized that didn't worth making his own life a living-hell. There had to be a balance somehow. A job he could enjoy and make enough money for his family— family of five, by the way. Him, his wife, and three kids at most.

He had been testing the waters with Hermione on his outlook, but the reaction always was a variation of: "Don't be silly, Ron. And three kids, don't you think that's… well, a bit too much responsibility?"

It has becoming harder to ignore their frigging relationship and all that was wrong with it the past six months— Hermione Granger-Weasley was taking days off from work to spend time with him, that's why.

Ron heard a high-pitched whistle in his ear, a clear indication he had lost it. _She didn't even want my surname, I had to convince her._

"I'm heading home," Ron mumbled and took off without glancing at his wife again. He didn't know why had bothered to lie, but he did.

Outside, the cold wind slapped his face and immediately extinguished his heat. The snow under his feet was soothing as it crunched softly because of the pressure. "Fuck," Ron hissed and wondered what in the name of Merlin he had done. Had he really shouted at Hermione? More than how they constantly argued. But what perplexed Ron in the first place was that he was so truthful in his words— this was the closest he had come to confessing that he wanted it to be over.

"Merlin, am I really thinking…?" Ron closed his eyes, then wiped his face. Grunting, he kicked a pile of snow. It didn't help. He searched his pockets and found what he was looking for. Taking it to his lips he lit the cigarette. This was the last of his second pack.

Hermione hated it. One of the many new subjects of their routine quarrels.

Inhaling a deep breath, Ron felt the nicotine numb his head just as he wanted. Another drink would accompany it well, but he didn't want to go back in.

It didn't take long for Harry to come finding him.

He snatched his cigarette and stomped on it. "Hadn't you quit this thing? Hermione had said—"

Ron snorted. This was the sum of their friendship.

"I'm sorry," Harry backtracked quickly. Ron shrugged, but couldn't help but take a glance inside the frosty windows of Leaky. Hermione sat with her back to them, her shoulders shaking apparently in sobs.

"Whatever," Ron murmured and took out his pack. Of course, it was empty. "Bloody hell."

"Won't you say what is wrong?" Harry asked.

"Isn't it obvious? We may not be as smart as her, Harry, but we are not bad ourselves."

Harry sighed, defeated. Finally, he decided on, "As you say." and went inside. Probably to the chick he had left hanging.

Ron had been debating whether to Apparate to a shop open this late at night to buy a pack of cigarettes when someone else came rushing out of Leaky, cursing in a lot of colourful choice words that would not make Merlin happy for being mentioned.

"Parkinson?" Ron looked at the young woman who was now only reminiscent of the pug-nosed posh girl from school. Sure, she was still slightly pug-nosed, but aging had done her favours. Her skin looked soft, for example. And finally, she looked the part (especially age) that she dressed. High-heels, meshed stockings and a short off-shoulder black dress.

Of course, all that poshness and arrogance was there.

"What? You feel you can make small talk with me, Weasley?" she sneered with her pretty red lips.

"Urgh, bloody hell! I don't need another witch harping at me."

"I wasn't even talking to you, you bat-shit idiot!" she shrieked, but didn't Disapparate and end the conversation as Ron expected.

"You are now," he found himself dumbly saying. "Why don't you go back to your Death Eater friends and shout _their_ ears off." Not that Ron had seen Malfoy and Goyle back in there.

"For your information, I have no friends who are Death Eaters nor am I associated one," Parkinson started, holding out a finger to count. "Second, I wouldn't be here 'harping at you' or 'shouting your ear off' as you put it, if I wasn't stood up by my fucking fiance."

That statement was met with silence. Ron was startled out of words because he couldn't believe Parkinson was stood up at all at a date ( _I mean, look at her,_ he thought) and Parkinson was utterly silent because she had over-shared. Damn all the alcohol.

"You didn't hear that," Parkinson immediately say. "I don't fucking care that you are the precious hero of the wizarding world, sidekick to oh-holy-Harry Potter, if you tell a soul about—"

"I won't," Ron immediately said, not exactly sure why he was so readily accepting.

"What are you doing here?" she asked all of a sudden. Ron wasn't an idiot, he saw when a tactic like that was used to thwart the subject somewhere else. "I saw saint Potter and know-it-all Granger inside."

"I thought Slytherins were smart," Parkinson raised her eyebrows at Ron's comment. "I mean, why call names to the two most respected and untouchable wizard and witch in England? And in my presence, no less?"

"Why would I care? You can't send me to Azkaban; last I checked you were kicked from the Auror department."

"Signed out," Ron corrected her. She kept his gaze, her light green eyes unwavering and skeptical under the haze of the alcohol in her system.

"I came to light a cigarette," Ron elaborated. It didn't make sense how he was currently not smoking in the freezing night outside.

Parkinson must have read between the lines.

"Problem in heaven?" she asked with a sharkish smile as she rummaged her small handbag. Then came an offered cigarette. Within moments, both were puffing out smoke in content.

"She is a bitch," he seethed, their countless arguments replaying in his head. He could not do this: act as if he loved his marriage or her. No longer. Selfish or not, he had to have his own life with his own rules.

"Anything new?" Parkinson's derisive tone didn't escape Ron, but he didn't reply. Their cigarettes finished in silence.

"Shoot, this is the last one," Parkinson said. After lightning and taking a breath, she offered it to him.

It was stained with her red lipstick. He took it.

"What?" he asked as if he hadn't heard what she had said. She had not spoken. Aware of this, Parkinson sniggered.

Ron took a deep breath from the cigar and tried to ignore the shame of his idiocy. His ear must be red if the blush he felt was anything to go by.

"Anything else you would like to share about the golden-girl? Something I don't know?" Parkinson spoke in jolly tones.

Ron slowly exhaled, feeling the burning in his throat and back of his nose as the heat of the smoke tickled his skin. Exhilarated by what he was about to say, Ron shivered and looked away.

"She is awful to fuck."

He extended the cigarette back as if he had commented on the weather, finally his eyes searching hers and finding her amused, but as attentive as he was.

Parkinson looked edible.

At the movement of her dainty fingers bringing the cigar to her lips, Ron dropped his eyes to watch her lips part and hold the thin tube in place. As she inhaled, her cheeks hallowed and her lips puckered so very tantalizingly.

Ron couldn't help himself and took a step closer to her, still far enough for propriety's sake, but close enough that his hypnotized eyes followed the curve of her chin, to her exposed neck and down to her naked collarbones and shoulders. Without any blemish, she looked soft as satin and so very inviting for a lick and a bite.

A puff of smoke blurred his vision and he looked up to Parkinson's lips where the cigarette hung leisurely once again.

This time, Ron sought to take it away, which she let him obediently with simply parting her lips, and the next moment, Ron snaked his other arm around her waist to pull her into a kiss.

He didn't pretend it was more than what it was. Opening his mouth, Ron sought her tongue with his and ate her mouth, smudging her red lipstick and all, as he so wanted. He sucked her lower lip, bit down, then tangled their tongues once more. Wet, hot and so very satisfying it was to taste her.

Aware that he held a cigarette with his free hand, he threw it away and reached to take her head to force her closer. Her hands came around his neck, and her scent mixed with alcohol, cigarettes and a spicy perfume assaulted Ron's sense of smell.

"What are you waiting for?" Parkinson hissed in his ear, then took his earlobe between her teeth. She kissed down to his lower neck.

By then Ron had forgotten what she had said, but suddenly and alarmingly he realised they stood in front of Leaky Cauldron very visible to anyone that came by.

He Disapparated them to the first place he could think of— which was his room in the Grimmauld Place. Harry had given him a room here, where he frequently came the past few weeks.

It was messy and inelegant. Neither of them cared.

Grabbing Parkinson by the wrists, Ron momentarily immobilized her and took the chance to dip into the boundary of her neckline, kiss the lowest possible available skin and licked from there to the junction of her shoulder to neck.

Parkinson shrieked in surprise but Ron had continued to kiss and nibble, which she replied with heavy moans. It also helped that he had let go of her wrists and now fondled her wonderful arse, the hem of her dress hiked up.

Pinching as his hands wandered, Ron reached for Parkinson's mouth for another wet kiss. Oh, how she devoured him! It was obvious how much she wanted him, with how she pressed herself to him. Her wonderful curves melted into his hard figure, very _hard_ by the way, and he rubbed the tent in his trousers unashamedly to her abdomen.

"Weasley, yes— touch me! Please, I—" Ron ripped her meshed stockings by her thigh, digging his nails to her soft flesh. "I— don't like— to be waited—" He hooked her left leg over his hip and rubbed his erection at the exact angle that made a perfect 'o' of Parkinson's swollen lips. That was to come, Ron promised.

"You liked that, witch?" he grumbled in her ear. Nibbling at her skin just below. "I'll give it to you, my huge cock, only if you kindly as of me."

It must be because of her pride, Parkinson didn't reply but took a hold of his hair and yanked so that she captured his mouth to aggressively claim him.

That, he hadn't expected. So, he retaliated.

Tightening his grip on her thigh, and securing her with his other hand as well, Ron picked Parkinson up and threw her on the bed.

Climbing on top of her, where she had opened her legs to invite him, Ron took a hold of her hands and collected them above her head. With one hand, he secured her wrists and kissed her to reassure her.

"Impatient, are you? But you waited long for the other bloke."

Parkinson struggled under his hold, her expression cross. "Are you a bastard like him, Weasley? You are either awfully bold, even for your stupid house, or immensely insecure; can't decide which. Or perhaps you simply couldn't hold your liquor?"

He ignored her callous talk and kissed her to mastefully silencing her. She kissed back in the same eagerness as before regardless of what she had just said.

"I don't understand," Ron found himself saying, still hard, he didn't want to sound disappointed. "I thought you wanted to fuck?"

"Oh, great Salazar! YES, FUCK ME YOU DOLT, and don't mention other blokes if you are not interested in fucking one."

With how shocked he was, Ron let go of her and she took the chance to rid him of his shirt.

"Now, you mentioned a huge cock," Parkinson purred, her hands already on his belt. "You better tear me apart with it."

They kissed again, but Ron was immediately distracted from Parkinson's hot mouth because his cock was held, pulled and fondled. He groaned into her mouth which only increased her attention on his member.

"You don't lie, Ronald Weasley, a huge cock it is," Parkinson breathed out. Ron buried his head to her shoulder and bit.

"Just Ron." He hated the sound of his full name thanks to a special someone.

"Then, just Pansy."

He nodded into her hair, her black strands tickling his nose. She smelled of vanilla, too.

Ron reached and pulled Pansy's hand away regardless of how he loved her warm grip. He would not cum of a handjob when a sexy minx lied beneath him. Suppressing his quickened breathing, Ron peppered Pansy with kisses: her lips, cheeks, nose, neck, down to her shoulders, and down to the neckline of her dress.

There, Ron grabbed her breast over the fabric, mindful of all the ecstatic voices that came from Pansy, he then freed the globe and caught its hardened nipple. The sharp intake of breath that morphed into a deep moan was priceless as he sucked sloppily on Pansy's tit. Then at the other.

Minutes later, Pansy was whining for him to touch her again, and taste her and fill her, and fuck her senseless.

"You need to tell me one at a time, Pansy. Hmm?"

Pansy shot him a glare but smiled. "Touch me."

He did. Resting both his hands on either side of her inner thighs, he massaged her plump flesh over her stockings.

"No, touch me there."

He inched his fingers closer to her groin, but didn't reach for her lacy knickers.

"Touch my pussy, Ron, now, or Merlin forgive me I'll—"

He ripped her stockings, opening a gap there, and did as he was told. This time, he didn't tease. First, over the thin fabric of her knickers, Ron checked how wet she was. Answer came the moment his finger slipped into her twat through the fabric. She was drenched. All for him.

"Fuck, Pansy, you're so wet. So beautiful, love, so fucking beautiful. And _very_ wet for me," Ron uttered then crawled downward to take a look. "Yes, look how wet… Godric I can smell you; you look delicious!"

His eyes lingered on her covered pussy longer as he waited for her to speak, but Pansy held her breath. Glancing at her, Ron noticed how flushed her neck was, the colour reaching to her shoulder even.

"Now?" he asked quietly. She looked like a content and awed kitten, but in a sense, she was also skittish to what was to come. Why she had become so different all of a sudden Ron didn't know.

"Taste me," she whispered, her eyes suddenly sparked with thrill. "Lick me. Bite me. There."

Ron obliged. He swallowed every drop, sucked her nub and grazed his teeth over her sensitive flesh to see how she responded.

Oh, her cunt sung for him!

She was spasming, thrusting her hips to his face, her fingers tangled in his hair, and Ron couldn't deny her orgasm and devoured her pussy as she rode the wave of her pleasure.

Pansy was breathless, moaning and eyes closed.

Ron gave her a moment to cool down, but then he lay his cock at her sex and very slowly rubbed her cunt.

"Hmmm?" he asked as he heard a faint call of his name. "Said something, Pansy?"

Not looking at her face, Ron concentrated on his meat sliding up and down, getting coated by Pansy's juices. His hands grabbed her thighs and slowly drew circles there as well.

"I need you," she whispered. "Ron, please."

He looked up at her and gave her his biggest smile. "Yes, right away."

And he position the tip of his cock at her entrance and pushed all the way in. If he had thought her cunt was blissful, now he thought this was simply surreal.

"Fuck," he seethed. Her velvet walls gripped him tightly, and he was missing the pressure as he pulled out. So he thrust quickly in again.

"Ah, yes!" Pansy's exclamations mixed with the sound of sweaty slapping of skin to skin and the loud grunts of Ron as he experienced the most unbelievable fantastic fuck of his life.

To go deeper, Ron grabbed Pansy's ankles and lifted them over his shoulders and pistoned in her even harder, ignoring the clumsy feeling of his trousers which were not fully shed.

"Oh, oh, ah, yes, this, wow, Pansy, fuck," Ron grunted with each thrust, he couldn't have imagined in a lifetime fucking Pansy Parkinson would feel so _perfect_.

As he thought about that, Ron felt the familiar squeeze in her balls: He was close, really _really_ close.

Reaching down to find the bundle of nerves that could tip off Pansy over the edge of another orgasm, Ron played with it until Pansy could not put two words together. He felt her walls clenching around his cock, her legs quivering on his torso, and saw her tits peak as she arched her back when she came tremendously.

Ron, too, was not far behind, and fucking Pansy's sweet pussy a few more times, his balls strongly squeezed and spurted his seed deep into the awaiting cunt.

They stilled; only their laboured breaths and faint whines interfered the silence.

Ron pulled back in the end, and gently lowered Pansy's legs. Unsure of what to do next (his pants pulled up and cocked tucked back in), he looked at the disheveled woman lying on his bed.

Her tits bared from the neckline of her dress, Pansy Parkinson's limbs were comfortably thrown sideways, her torn stockings giving the impression that an animal attacked her, if not for the obvious state of her cunt dripping with their joint fluids.

She looked serene but finished.

At that last thought, Pansy suddenly stood up, corrected her outfit, looked for her shoes, and headed for the door.

Ron opened his mouth, hell if he knew what he was going to say, but Pansy didn't stop to glance back and Ron ended up not calling her to stop, anyway.

She was gone, just like that.

* * *

**Again, a short one-shot out of nowhere (I will edit later, so excuse my mistakes).**

***Still, all the WIPs abandoned.**

**I hope you enjoyed this :D**

**Ydream08**


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